Keeping Faith
by lapsus calami
Summary: The companion serial to the short 'Swing'. The Purveyors of Magical Mischief-Makers slowly disband, and doubt clouds reason.
1. Interlude

Title: Keeping Faith  
  
Summary: Companion piece to the short 'Swing' (also known as 'Three Men and a Record Player' in some circles). The Purveyors of Magical Mischief- Makers slowly disband, and doubt clouds reason.  
  
Note: This first chapter is for the Reluctant Wormtail – you poor traitor, you. This was not added onto 'Swing', since... Well, while it does take place around the same time, it's... Different. oO;; I don't know... Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

"Mmph." He groaned, voice muffled by the mattress upon which he laid his cheek and pillow over his head. "Is't time yet," Peter mumbled. "Go back bed."  
  
"It is time," said the familiar voice. A chill raced up Peter's neck. The voice in his ear was icy: what breath should have been warm with life was cold – dead cold.  
  
"Master!" he squeaked.  
  
The Animagus started from his place of sleep, small, watery eyes darting this way and that. The tattered veil that served as a wall and door to his corner fluttered briefly in a breeze – there being a liberal crack in the wall –, and his things lay scattered about the small area. No one there...  
  
"You're awake, Wormtail?"  
  
Peter crept from his creaking mattress and slipped past the curtain – nary a disturbance in the many folds. His sharp eyes easily discerned the form of Mister RJ Lupin; Remus, even at twenty-one years of age, looked decades older. 'Forty, even!' Pettigrew remarked inwardly, trying to dismiss the utter horror of this betrayal – to his friend. Lupin's eyes were nearly closed in weary torment, light brown hair fluttering carelessly about.  
  
Streaks of grey played about the tips of his light tresses. So careworn. Another stab of guilt. A man who had taken him in against it all, and he would be used so cruelly, was subjected to endless puzzles that were the true cause of his glazed eyes.  
  
A bronze kettle shuddered over the gas stove. Partially in defiance to his parents, Sirius had insisted on at least a partly Muggle dwelling. For Remus, his being half-blooded himself, it was a comfort.  
  
Half-blood. Peter directed his squinted periwinkle gaze towards his feet, toes freezing against the cold wood planks. That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? Blood. Peter forced himself to look up again. Too late, now.  
  
Remus's curious amber eyes flitted towards the traitor. "What are you doing up so late?" he asked, tone voicing true concern. "Can't sleep?"  
  
"I guess," replied Peter in a low mumble. What was he going to say? 'I've been awaken by my guilt about betraying the only three people who've ever accepted me, including you'? "What're you –" The rest was blocked by an overpowering yawn.  
  
Remus smiled softly. "I'm usually up at this hour," he said. "A confirmed insomniac, I'm sorry to say –" He quickly lifted the kettle from the stove, just as it began to whistle. "Wouldn't want to wake Sleeping Beauty," Remus quipped, just as Sirius gave a particularly loud snore.  
  
Wormtail was forced to do some quick thinking – should I carry through? It was now or never; no turning back after this. He thought of James, of Sirius and Remus, his best friends. Peter contemplated James's old sweetheart and wife, Lily – they had a child, now. He'd only just turned one year old. Could he really do this?  
  
"No, we wouldn't," murmured Peter softly. He had decided. "Remus, I think – Sirius. Lily and James – they're hiding, you know that, but... I think Sirius is the Secret-Keeper."  
  
Lupin paused while tipping the kettle's spout into a teacup. "What?"  
  
"Sirius – their Secret-Keeper," Peter repeated. The seeds of deceit. "Has Dumbledore told you about – about how You-Know-Who is able to find them...?"  
  
"An insider," said Lupin quietly to himself – warily, uncertain. Cautious. "A traitor." Peter nodded silently, his thin lips a nondescript line.  
  
"Sirius... Sirius is the traitor?" Remus looked sharply at Peter, tired eyes suddenly awake, and questioning. "Sirius – he's not –" Sirius cried over a lost Puffskein in his sleep. The pair peered past the kitchen counter and towards Black's corner of the apartment, suspicion and caution written across their features. After a few moments without a sound, Remus turned back swiftly to Peter.  
  
"I can't be sure," said Peter quickly. "I don't know – it's just..." Peter shook his head. "Just be careful who you trust."  
  
Remus's eyes narrowed. He meant it to be an expression of disbelief, but the doubt showed in his eyes. "I'm always careful."

* * *

Another Note: This was short... Sigh More to come.


	2. Intrusions

Note to nkittyhawk/ever crying: -Hug- Thank you so much! xD You are just wonderful all the time: ALWAYS nice things to say, and constantly reading my works. Why, I have no idea – but you're awesome! -Huggle- (I loved your Tom Riddle poem, by the bye)  
  
Note: I'm debating on whether or not to turn this into a Sirius/Lupin slash fic. Any feedback on that note? It could considerably cause the plot to become more interesting, but I've never really done slash before... Anyway, it's up to you lot.

Another Note: Eck. --;; Short chapters are becoming a habit - sorry! However, I haven't posted any Harry Potter stuff for a while, so... --;; That's not exactly an excuse, but whatever. xD - Lottie/White/Lapsus Calami

* * *

When Remus awoke the next morning, the kettle still lay partially in his grasp, and he slouched over the counter. He straightened his posture, causing the chair to screech against the wood floor. The black dog started at the werewolf's feet, and, bleary from sleep, banged his snout against the chair.  
  
Sirius whimpered in exaggerated pain, and Lupin smiled softly. "There, there," he began, patting his friend on the head in comfort, but recollection of the prior night's conversation prevented him from continuing. Rather discomfited, he hastily moved away from the hound and briskly strode towards the front door, muttering something about fetching milk from the market.  
  
Peter emerged from his corner of the apartment, looking puzzled as Remus strode past him without so much as a 'Good morning', and Sirius quickly returned to his human form. Sirius shot him a questioning look, but Wormtail merely shrugged.  
  
"Is he alright?" asked Sirius after a moment's silence. "He seems – I don't know." He scratched the back of the nape of his neck, wrinkling his nose. "I don't know," he repeated, "but I don't like it."  
  
Peter didn't respond. Sirius searched his friend's features curiously. "You're acting odd, too," he remarked quietly. "Are you two –" He waved a hand vaguely.  
  
"No!" cried Peter. "It's just –" He put his face in his hands. Tears came to his eyes easily after only a moment. Peter could hear Sirius shuffling his feet nervously, and Peter counted to five in his head...  
  
"It's just," Peter repeated as he lowered his hands from his face. "Just that – he's been..." Pettigrew shook his head. "He's a traitor, Sirius."  
  
Sirius looked sharply at Peter – the same disbelieving, harsh stare that Remus had given Peter the night before. All according to plan. "No," said Sirius, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Wait – what? Remus?"  
  
"I know. It's hard to believe," Peter murmured. He looked away, small watery eyes alighting upon the record player sitting on one of the nightstands. "But..." A tear slid down his cheek; the perfect theatrical effect. "How could he do that to Lily and James, Sirius?"  
  
"Do what to Lily and James?" Peter looked up. Oops. A slight slip. He hadn't done ANYTHING to Lily and James, just yet. Time for some quick thinking.  
  
"He sold them to Him, Sirius!" Peter cried. "Remus betrayed Lily and James to You-Know-Who!" Sirius stiffened. "If Lupin – if Lupin finds out who the Secret-Keeper is..." He let out a quiet sob.  
  
Sirius bit his lip. "If he finds if /I'm/ the Secret-Keeper..." He shook his head. "Damn it."  
  
Peter hid his anxious look upward and a flashing grin. "What?" he said. "You're the Secret-Keeper, Sirius?"  
  
"Yeah," Sirius replied dismissively, only partially listening. "Damn it!" he muttered again. "Does he have any idea –"  
  
"No," said Peter. "No, I don't think so."  
  
"Good. Keep it that way..." Sirius looked up, face shining with sudden revelation. "No. Wait. I've got it." He clapped his hands together with glee. "Peter, I've GOT it!" He smirked, his own cocky self again. "We'll tell Remus that I'm the Secret-Keeper –"  
  
"We will?" squeaked Peter – his entire plan, shattered.  
  
"Yes," said Sirius firmly. "Then he won't suspect that we know."  
  
"What good does that do?" asked Pettigrew anxiously – anything to veer from his precious scheme's ruin.  
  
"I won't be Secret-Keeper, Wormtail," said Sirius, flashing a dog-like grin. "You will be. And soon –," his expression changed – grim and solemn. "Soon, we'll pay him back – just as he would have Lily and James."  
  
Peter nodded. "Right. Just as," he swallowed. "Just as he would have done Lily and James." 


	3. Intricacies

Note: I'm sure you all thought I'd lost my mind with the second chapter, and that I had no idea what I was doing, or how it would all come together. Well... You were right. oo; However – somehow, I managed to tie up all the loose ends, and (if I do say so myself), pretty neatly. FEAR ME! BWAHAHAH!  
  
Another Note: .. It sort of ventures into slash, even 'though it was partially accidental. The bit with Peter towards the end, for example, was NOT purposely. The bit with Remus's inward description of Sirius in the sunlight – that was originally a lot worse... Substitute 'beautiful' for 'striking', for example, and you'll catch my drift.

* * *

They were gone, now.  
  
Peter could not help but feel a slight tug of sadness. Lily and James, life's constants – they were dead. It was difficult, true, but now Peter Pettigrew was no longer slave to the wishes and whims of these lesser mortals. No, the one Pettigrew served was far greater than any James and Lily Potter would ever be.  
  
Peter checked his watch. Yes, the job would be done, by now. 'The job would be /finished/,' Peter corrected mentally – his mother had had an insane obsession with proper grammar. By now, done or finished, James and Lily Potter were dead, and there were two less barriers on his master's road to immortality.  
  
'Three,' Peter amended. He'd nearly forgotten – that annoying prophecy. Well, Harry Potter would be long finished, now, too, along with his mother and father. Peter slipped away from any remorse, and smiled, remembering that death was the present topic of contemplation. Why ruin something like that with guilt?

* * *

Sirius looked out the window blankly, the curtains drawn back. What the hell was he going to do...? Remus, a traitor. Probably not the first thing that would have come to mind.  
  
"He sold them to Him, Sirius!"  
  
Peter's words echoed in his mind. Sirius shook his head. How could it be? Remus couldn't be a traitor – Sirius wouldn't allow himself to believe it. "What reason does Peter have to lie?" Sirius asked himself loudly. "Nothing. He's just... Peter."  
  
The thought that Peter might betray them was laughable – he depended on him. Many a time, Sirius had been down and out, and the mere, never doubting presence of Peter alleviated the pain. Always the first to cheer for his friends: Peter needed them. Sirius paused before he realised that he needed Peter as much as Wormtail needed him.  
  
That was why Peter was now the Secret-Keeper.  
  
A gnawing doubt pulsed throughout his entire being, but Sirius was not one to pause and contemplate the other obscure possibilities. Sirius was a man of impulse – Remus was the one who would reflect upon murky prospects; and now that he was...  
  
Sunlight showered through the dirty glass, the light varied in places where it fell against Sirius's pale countenance. How was he supposed to decipher all this rubbish? Who betrayed whom, the circumstances of this and that, this happened to them, and Godric knew what else. He gave a shuddering sigh. "Damn it."

* * *

Remus sped down the street, the news on every witch and wizard's lips buzzing in his ears. "Dead?" It wasn't possible. James Potter – the first to ever care. Lily Potter – the first to understand. United, in their friendship, between themselves and with him. He took an uneven inhale.  
  
The scarf that hung loosely about his neck fluttered away, but still Lupin did not pause. He raced down, running faster than he had ever done in his life. James and Lily were dead, and he knew who had done it. Not by his own hands, but –  
  
He was their Secret-Keeper, and he knew it. Peter had told him everything. A soft, fond smile played about Remus's mournful features. Peter, reliable, stout, true – he, at least, knew where his loyalties lay. Peter would never turn James and Lily to You-Know-Who. Peter wouldn't just give up James, his first friend. Peter wouldn't let Voldemort have Lily, who sympathised and was kind. Peter certainly wouldn't hand a child, an infant, little more than a year old, to a murderer. Unlike another. A tear slid down Remus's cheek. Damn it all, he would kill the bastard.  
  
The witches and wizards mingled freely in the streets with the Muggles, their fluorescent robes disproportioning against Lupin, a dull brown. A warlock garbed in a brilliant green recognised him from the crowd – "Where are you going, Lupin? Have you heard the news?" He laughed merrily. "He's done! You-Know-Who's finished!"  
  
Remus shoved past the celebrating throng. There were more important matters, for the time being. He grimaced as the wizard made an offended sniff, and immediately quashed the sentiment of righteous indignity.  
  
"Good evening, Mister Adams," said the kindly old woman absently, as she sat at the front desk of the apartment complex – personally, Lupin would have preferred NOT to have people scoffing at his rather unusual name. By Muggle standards, at any rate. She huffed peevishly, as Mister Adams did not bother even to reply, but rather chased down into the lift down the hall. Some people just couldn't even trouble themselves to be civil...  
  
"Moony!"  
  
The familiar squeak. Lupin quickly pressed the 'Open' button on the lift's controls. Peter careened down the main corridor and nearly fell over as he slid on the tile towards the lift. "Moony!" he cried again. "Have you –," he paused to catch his breath, "have you heard – James –"  
  
"I heard," Lupin replied, curiously emotionless. "I heard, Peter."  
  
Peter stepped into the lift, head bowed. A few moments of silence passed. Peter thought about a word of remorse – anything for a more convincing performance – but the instant he opened his mouth, Remus leaned forward and pressed the button for the seventh storey.

* * *

The sound of the noisy lift started Sirius from his thoughts.  
  
Slowly, blankly, as 'though it simply did not matter any longer, Sirius raised his head to see who it was. In another time, another sense of being, Padfoot's gaze would have met the newcomer's immediately, probably with a flashing grin; but this was different. Already, his face was pale.  
  
It was Remus. And Peter. Sirius didn't bother to withdraw from his full slouch. Sirius blinked. Remus had his wand out.  
  
"Has it actually come to this?" Sirius said hoarsely. "Moony and Padfoot, coming to blows. I never would have thought it."  
  
Remus grimaced. "Get out, Black." He did not want to see him there – in the light, his face so brilliantly pure and striking. This was not how Remus wanted to remember Sirius Black dying – Sirius Black would be in a corner, eyes mad, and mutual hatred would be passed. A good, loving Black – a just, wronged Black – it was too much like the old Sirius to be suffered. Remus raised his wand, readying to defend, but threatening all the same. "Get out!" Lupin snarled.  
  
Peter watched from the hall, the lean figure of Remus Lupin shadowing the corridor. "Get out," Remus repeated, softer.  
  
"I'm not leaving, Moony," Sirius replied quietly. "Not until I have the truth." He longed to shout out at him – 'Why did you do it, Remus? Why did you sell the only people who have ever cared about you?' Yet he restrained himself. It wasn't true, and he hated himself for it. Lily and James were not the only ones who had cared.  
  
"What truth?" Remus shouted back. "WHAT TRUTH? There IS no truth!" Peter gulped. This was getting far too emotional, too quickly. 'There is no truth, Sirius!' Remus cried in his mind. 'Lies – shadow – deceit! That is all I know, or ever have!' A tear slid down Sirius's cheek.  
  
"I'm not leaving, Moony!"  
  
A scarlet flash of light hit Remus from behind. Peter squeaked, the power in his wand felt between his fingers almost overwhelming. "Go on, Sirius!" he cried. "I'll take care of Lupin!" Padfoot raced towards the door while he could. Take care of Lupin – had he had the time, Peter probably would have smirked to himself. That was certainly the last thing on his agenda; then again, in the more common masculine banter, to 'take care of' someone was roughly what he intended to do. Pettigrew winced. He really wouldn't know... "They all think YOU'RE the Secret-Keeper, remember? They won't suspect me, but you – you'll – run!"  
  
Sirius paused for a moment in the doorway, watching as Peter knelt to lift Remus's head off the ground from where he fell. "Go!" Peter shouted. Sirius nodded, and blinked away what looked like tears. It could be the light, Peter reflected. Yes, light. Light didn't cause guilt.  
  
"You're right." His voice was gravely and dry. "Thank you, Peter," Sirius said after another precious moment. "You know, I always thought of you as the weakling, but now – now..." His voice trailed off. Sirius bowed his head, dark tresses of his thick mane crossing over the paleness of his face, contrasting amazingly in the stark light from the open window.  
  
"I'll meet you up, later," Sirius murmured. "The safe house, near Grimmauld – you remember?" Peter nodded weakly. "Hide there. I know, they'll be after me, but – no chances, right?"  
  
Peter looked down at Lupin, whose head was supported against Peter's knee. Idly, Peter swept away a shaggy lock of golden brown from his brow. These were the ones he had betrayed, thought Peter. The only ones who had ever really, truly cared. Inwardly, he sobbed, but hastily recaptured his emotions. "Go," said Peter faintly. Sirius nodded, inhaled haltingly, and dashed down the corridor.

* * *

Note: I heart cliffhangers. oo; 


	4. Illusions

* * *

Note: This was originally a LOT longer – however, I split it into two chapters, as the latter half needed more editing. Well, that, and there was just need for a pause... -Shrug- Author's instinct. x.x It'll be up, at the very latest, a day or so after this, if not sooner. oo; The odd bit is, I wrote the LATTER bit first. This was actually written quite a while afterwards... x.x Eh, whatever. Enjoy.

* * *

Here it was.  
  
Peter gulped. The door before him looked foreboding, an ominous, symbolic otherworldly thing. About a block away stood the traditional Black abode of Grimmauld Place. The decrepit, ancient house in which he stood now was generally called the Lachrymose House, for the obvious reasons. Grey, faded curtains hung from the windows, and a weeping willow, only just able to cling to life for another day, after day, stood out in the front lawn.  
  
Lachrymose was something else, however. It was the point of no return.  
  
After this, thought Peter, there was nothing else he could do to prevent the remainder of his plan. James and Lily were dead, gone; nothing could be done about them. He could, however, go back inside the house and wait for Sirius to return. Saving one of his oldest friends from a life sentence in Azkaban, or maybe even something worse.  
  
Peter could have even returned to Knockturn Alley, where Lupin no doubt was. Where a poison, the affects of which were strangely similar to that of opium, lay dormant in the werewolf's veins, threatening to kill in some hours's time. He could have. There was still time.  
  
There was so much Peter Pettigrew could have accomplished, saved, in that one moment. The wizard paused for a moment in contemplation before slipping the key into it's slot and turning it to the right. The door to Lachrymose was locked. As was the fate of Sirius Black.

* * *

Remus didn't like it. This sense of ominous, life altering waiting. It was enough to kill a man greater than he, even without the trials that he had already passed through.  
  
Lupin had awoken some hour earlier, tucked lovingly into bed by some unknown. More or less Peter, Remus decided. Wormtail had probably suspected that his less than wonderful magical talents would not be enough to rouse the unconscious lycanthrope, and simply left him there, for time to wear the magic's effects away.  
  
Remus peered blankly about the deserted alley. A sliver of pale silver shone through a cleft in the dark grey clouds, and the slight sickle fell across the werewolf's visage, carving light about his shadowed, weary features. His gaze did not waver when the moon's light caught against his amber eyes.  
  
Was this really what it was like? The darkness, the fear that surrounded Knockturn Alley was not really at all what Lupin had thought it to be. His expression sobered even more, if that was possible. Perhaps he would start coming here regularly – it would doubtless be somewhat easier to obtain his wolfsbane here than at the usual Apothecary...  
  
Nothing was as bad as it seemed, Lupin realised. These irrational, inane fears of his were nothing. He had nothing left to fear. Nothing to live for.

* * *

The cover that night provided was perfect. Sirius revved the engine on his motorbike. Perfect... Everyone was in at this point, too. He couldn't help but smile to himself. It seemed the whole of the Wizarding world was indoors, having some mass celebration. On another day, the Animagus would have asked indignantly why he wasn't invited. For now, however, his contemplation was elsewhere.  
  
Padfoot swerved drastically about a corner, headed for Lachrymose. There was no way in Hell that they were going to catch Peter, or himself. For a moment, Sirius pondered who 'they' were, exactly – the Death Eaters, of course. For a split second, he had almost thought of them in another sense. The Ministry of Magic, perhaps? Sirius scoffed to himself. What would the Ministry want with either of them?  
  
Sirius didn't bother to flick the silver switch on the handlebar, for once not wishing to soar above the clouds. Speed was the only thing necessary at the moment, and presently, flight was not necessary.  
  
Lachrymose. Sirius's smile faded. It was dire business, this – not some frivolous jaunt. He slid off the bike and strode towards the aging house, rapped his knuckles against the door. "Peter," Padfoot hissed. "It's me. Padfoot. Open up."  
  
No answer.  
  
"Peter!" Sirius whispered again, louder. "Wormtail – it's Padfoot! Open the door!"  
  
Still, nothing.  
  
Sirius frowned. He didn't like this – Peter was usually on constant, vigilant watch. It was seldom that he never paid mind to when one of his three friends came about. "Alohomora," Sirius muttered, pointing his wand at the doorknob. There was a click; the door shuddered and creaked open.  
  
"Peter?" said Sirius.  
  
There was nary a sound in the entire house; generally speaking, the crackling sound of the borrowed record player would be blaring from the sitting room, or a kettle would be whistling on the stove. The complete and utter silence disturbed Sirius to almost a breaking point. "What the hell...?"  
  
There was no one home.  
  
Sirius strode urgently throughout the hall, up the stairs, and looked into one of the bedrooms. No one. The bathroom – the library – the spare room: no one there. Exigency was scrawled across Sirius's paling features. "Peter?" he cried in a low voice. He even checked the wardrobe. Nary a soul.  
  
Sirius checked any possible message that Lachrymose had been found, but there was none. No sign that Peter had run for his life.  
  
Fear registered across Sirius's features, and dawn crept against the horizon. With that, Sirius raced back out into the street and sped away towards Godric's Hollow.

* * *

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible...  
  
A dull thud in Remus's mind, an endless throb. He repeated it mentally, over and over. He could not believe it. He would not – it was too much.  
  
Lupin had forfeited to his anguish, and now allowed the horrors within to take over. At least now it did not hurt, did not ache with the pain of so much grief. It was so much easier to deny.  
  
Rosmerta glanced at the man, one she had witnessed grow from a weak little thirteen year old boy, as she wiped down the counters for the night. He was the only one left for the night, too. She shook her head sympathetically. He was completely and utterly sloshed. As were half the Wizarding population, the witch contemplated after a moment. Especially after yesterday's events – joyous mugs had been raised all throughout the day.  
  
She glanced towards the clock. One in the morning, nearly. She looked back at Lupin. No, this hadn't been one of those celebratory inebriations she had seen all day. This was a 'gotta drown my sorrows' case. Rosie set the dishrag over her shoulder, having finished clearing the bar for the night. "I'll let him sleep it off," she decided quietly. With kindly deliberation, the owner of the Three Broomsticks flicked off the lights and vanished from the pub with a crack.

* * *

"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?"  
  
Sirius watched Peter with half-crazed eyes. The little bastard – Peter was going to plant the entire ordeal on him. "How could you?" Peter repeated in a sob.  
  
The Muggles in the street stopped and stared. A grimy, dangerous looking fellow, who looked like he was on the run from the law, and a short little man who was attempting to face him down, bawling about someone unknown people. That was bound to attract their attentions.  
  
It had taken Sirius all day to find little Peter Pettigrew  
  
Sirius watched as Peter reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand, hiding it discreetly behind his back. "Bastard," said Sirius viciously, eyes narrowing. "Not here."  
  
Suddenly, it was all clear. Remus wasn't the traitor – Peter was. Peter was stronger than he had thought, too – one move, and Sirius was fairly certain he wouldn't be as clumsy as the younger Peter had been in Defence class. Sirius swallowed, remorse and regret fuelling his anger. How could he have been so stupid? The entire time, it had been right in front of his eyes, and he had been too stupid, too arrogant, too complaisant in what he was CERTAIN to be right, to even see. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and hatred blazed.  
  
"Voldemort taught you a few tricks, then?" scoffed Sirius quietly. "Fine. But not here, Pettigrew."  
  
Pettigrew flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, and his smile faded. He quickly regained his composure, however. "Yes, here," replied Peter in a cheery voice, lower, so no one could hear. "I never liked having to become the rat, anyways." He raised his voice for the entire world to hear. "I can't let you get away with killing them, Sirius!" Peter shouted. He gripped his wand tighter, and prepared to finish the job. "TRAITOR!"


	5. Infliction

Chapter Five: Infliction  
  
Note: Okay. I gave Charlotte a cameo. So, sue me. 0o; She's my own created character, for Rowena's sake – the personification of myself, tossed into Hogwarts. --;; I can't help it. oo; I also put in Stephen Maturin – not that anyone knows who THAT is, or anything.

* * *

Well, that was easier than he had thought it would have been. The rat sped down the sewers. Curiously, the feelings of remorse, of regret, did not attack Peter's flimsy conscience. There was surprisingly nothing. No emotion, in that regard, whatsoever.  
  
Peter curled his front paw to his chest tentatively. He would staunch the flow of blood once he got out of this God be damned place...  
  
The rat ignored the memory of the screams. Despite his efforts, the shrieks of the dying rang in his ears. He shook them away, the left side of his nose twitching with an itch. He shrugged it away, in what he imagined to be an almost flawlessly rodent manner. Well, it wasn't for lack of practice.  
  
His master was gone. Peter's nose twitched, becoming more and more rat- like with each erratic tweak. Dead? No – that wasn't possible. The Dark Lord could – WOULD defeat death. He squeaked. He would just have to keep his ears open.

* * *

Remus reached for his keys. It was still too difficult to believe, even though he had faced this monstrosity for nearly an entire day, now. He had shouldered the burden with scarce success for nigh twenty-four hours; and yet, he could not help but wonder how much longer he could possibly last.  
  
His eyes were glazed, partially from the hangover that insisted on draining every ounce of energy he possessed. Remus shivered involuntarily. That wasn't all, 'though, he was sure – there was something wrong. He looked down at the keys in his hand. The scarred digits that wrapped about them were shaking.  
  
The boarding house corridor was deserted – Remus figured they had all left, displeased with a particular apartment down the hall... He slid the key into the lock and twisted, an especial jerk to the right, due to the fact that it was broken. To his surprise, it was found unlocked. Peter, probably, as he particularly recalled locking the door after he had left for Knockturn. Remus faltered for a moment, felt his strength leave him for a few moments. He grimaced, and with extra force applied, he pushed the door open.  
  
Lupin's mouth slid agape. Every chink, every crevice had been searched. The papers, usually so neat and in stacks on his desk, were sprawled across the floor; the drawers of the nightstand gaped, the contents shifted through. His amber eyes darted for some sign of the perpetrator –  
  
A witch was gazing about the kitchen, apparently unaware of Remus's presence. The werewolf himself was surprised that she was even still there – any robber worth his salt would have been gone long since. Slowly, carefully, Lupin treaded across the wood floors towards her, left hand gripping his wand in his pocket, at the ready for even the briefest flash of danger. The picture of stealth.  
  
The floor creaked.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
The witch turned about, her right heel a pivot about the kitchen tile. She found Remus staring at her from across the kitchen counter. "What are you doing here?" she questioned, blinking owlishly. A camera hung loosely from her hand.  
  
"I think the question is what are YOU doing here," replied Remus, voice struggling to keep calm. "You are breaking and entering, miss."  
  
The witch adjusted her spectacles on her nose and squinted to discern who this fellow was. "You live here?" Remus nodded. "Lupin?" she mused aloud. He nodded again.  
  
"You know who I am," Remus murmured, "now, kindly tell me who YOU are."  
  
The witch wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry, Lupin," she said, with some difficulty. "You – you haven't heard, have you?" She peered at him questioningly.  
  
"Heard what?" he asked cautiously. "I already know about – about the Potters." He swallowed. Acceptance. He had accepted that they were dead. Remus's eyes flicked down to his shoes.  
  
The witch shook her head. "No – no, Lupin." She hung her head. "They caught him."  
  
"Caught him?" Remus echoed. "What do you mean?"  
  
"They've caught Black, Lupin."  
  
Her words hit him like a pang. They had caught Sirius – they had captured him, which meant he had committed a crime. For the first time, he realised, despite all this while he had suspected, conspired, this was the first moment he had actually believed it. Remus felt something shatter within him. Sirius was a traitor.  
  
"They caught him earlier today – the Department was short-handed – for the investigation, I mean." She waved a hand vaguely about the apartment. "What with all the celebrations, a lot of people didn't turn up for work. They had me come and inspect, you know – possible incentives, motives... 'Though all that was pretty clear, without my coming here, you know." She paused. "But it's protocol – I had to come check this out."  
  
Remus nodded – he hadn't really been paying attention. "Yeah. Where's Peter?" he asked. The Ministry witch gave him a blank stare. "Peter Pettigrew. Where is he?"  
  
The witch bit her lip. This job was more difficult than she'd thought it would be. "Pettigrew – Pettigrew's dead, Lupin." The words took a moment to take in. Remus his jaw slacken, and his entire being felt numb. "That's why I'm here. Black killed him."  
  
Lupin's mouth went dry. His eyes, 'though seeing, refused to filter the images to his mind. It felt as 'though everything was shutting down... Dead. Everyone was dead, and if not dead, as good as. All betrayed, or had... Remus swallowed, but there was no forgiving sweep of unconsciousness, no sudden merciful apology – "Oh, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. They're all alive. James, Lily, Peter – they're all waiting for you. Sirius never betrayed you, or anyone else." The words never came. Or even better, "Wake up. It's all been a dream."  
  
No dream. Nothing. Suddenly, the immense weariness, the quiescent venom within, sprang to life. The werewolf felt his entire being stiffen. Not physically, really, but internally – Remus took one more deep breath before surrender was made inevitable in seconds. Thus immobilised, Remus Lupin lost everything in a single moment – friends, reason, and memory.

* * *

'Christ,' thought Charlotte. 'He looks like hell.'  
  
Charlotte Fenwick could have sworn Lupin was going to faint – she couldn't really blame him. He looked blankly past her, or through her, his bland gaze piercing the wall just above her left shoulder. 'Has he lost it?' she considered silently. Rowena knew SHE would have, in his shoes.  
  
"Cripes!" The witch rushed forwards and caught the wizard as his knees buckled. "Whoa – just a moment, then –" Hurriedly, she grabbed the nearest chair and scraped it across the wood panelling beneath him – if he had indeed been paying attention, he would have had a fit over this abuse of the flooring. "'Lo?" Charlotte blinked owlishly and shook him slightly by the shoulder. No answer – he was completely oblivious. She shook her head. Everything coming down about his nose – no, she couldn't blame him.  
  
The witch considered Stunning him, or something, for a moment. Put him out for a few gracious hours of unconsciousness seemed like a charitable thing to do – the least the poor man deserved, after all he'd been put through.  
  
Charlotte started. Pity? Pity for Remus Lupin? A sentiment she never thought she would ever have to endure. "Other ways about, more like," she muttered darkly to herself as she scrambled towards the fireplace, having ensured that the blank wizard was perfectly balanced on his own. She stuffed a hand down her robe pocket and withdrew a fistful of green powder. "'Ey!" she murmured, as loudly as she deemed able without disturbing Remus. "Croaker! Come ON, you old bat –"  
  
The detached head of a rather peevish looking old wizard appeared in a flash of emerald flames. "Eh?" he said blandly. "Oh, Fenwick – what d'you want?" He sneezed as a jet of ash darted up one of his nostrils.  
  
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I need a favour. A Healer – someone – down here. Remus Lupin's here –" The witch bit her lip. "Yeah. Remus Lupin – he's had a touch of a shock." A touch? Perhaps that was putting it lightly. At least, that was what it LOOKED like. He hadn't exactly fallen over and began twitching, but... "Anyways, I don't have the ingredients for that one potion – just have Maturin do one really quick and he can put Lupin out for a couple hours."  
  
Croaker eyed her suspiciously. "Lupin? Wasn't he in –," he gave a respectful gulp and a bow of the head, "the Potters's lot?"  
  
Charlotte frowned. "Yes," she answered. "Yes, he was. Send Maturin down, NOW. Twenty-b, Saint James's – London, I think. I have to be off."  
  
The head in the fireplace nodded. "Sure. Take care of y'self, missie." With a fond smile and a small pop, Croaker vanished.  
  
The witch grimaced and trudged back towards Lupin. "Still unconscious, then," she muttered to herself disapprovingly. "Damn. Well..." She trailed off, weighing the options in her mind. She could just wait for Maturin to get there, but she really had to be going. "Peasegood'll have my head." Charlotte looked at Remus, whose amber eyes had finally closed. "Cripes. He doesn't look so good..."  
  
Even from a distance, it was clear that Lupin was certainly not well. His skin was shining with sweat, and he was tiring from intermittent, shallow breaths. Charlotte put two fingers to his wrist. Faint pulse. She bit her lip. "Oh, damn." 


	6. Inbye

* * *

Chapter Six: Inbye  
  
Note: Sorry, Percy fans, for portraying your hero as a whiny idiot. And Peter has a fixation with France. Go figure.  
  
Another Note: Yay. .. Things are actually turning out rather nicely. I think all the loose ends are tied up... -Claps- Huzzay.  
  
Yet Another Note: As for this chapter's name... Well, I was looking through my dictionary, and 'inbye' is a Scottish Gaelic term for being located near to – referring to Peter's newfound state of closeness to a Wizarding family.

* * *

Sirius's voice rang throughout the hall in a vicious giggle. Peter was dead. Peter was dead. James and Lily had been avenged. He had been wrongly imprisoned, but the rat, the traitor, was gone. A few emaciated faces peered past the iron bars at stared, but Black didn't mind their intruding glances. Peter was dead – James and Lily were avenged – innocence. He was innocent. Sirius smiled to himself.  
  
Peter was gone, at least. That was a comfort, of sorts. His own cackle echoed and returned to his own ears, his voice spreading throughout the cells of Azkaban. Peter was dead, and the deaths of James and Lily... Peter had died for it. Sirius smiled. Of course. He should have known Peter would not have been able to control a spell of that magnitude.  
  
The Muggles that had died behind him, however... They had been innocents. Sirius clenched his fists. Peter, even in death, had a lot to answer for.  
  
Silently, Sirius wondered what had become of little Harry. He knew James and Lily were gone, now; Hagrid had taken Harry away. Within his mind, he mused upon the possibilities, if he had been the one to take his godchild away. His face was already gaunt and pale, worn far beyond his years with a single night. Hagrid would see to it that Harry was fine. Sirius was certain of it. That, at least, brought a slight smile to his face.  
  
The dementor's shocking grip on Sirius's shoulder tightened, and the smile faded. The knowledge that he had not committed a crime remained.  
  
Innocent, Sirius repeated mentally. I am innocent.

* * *

"Poison," Stephen declared.  
  
Charlotte peered at Lupin anxiously. "What kind of poison?" she asked, concern etched across her features. "Is he going to die – what?"  
  
Maturin shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "We need to get him to Saint Mungo's, 'though – I don't even know how much longer he'll last for." He frowned. "This reminds me of a particularly bad case of yellow fever," Stephen murmured as he studied the paling, sweating Lupin. "'Though there are some similarities to the snake venom from – Sri Lanka? I don't remember."  
  
The wind hissed through a crack in the window's glass and breathed against Charlotte's cheek. Her brow furrowed. "I see," she said, 'though she really had no idea what her colleague was talking about.  
  
"Right," said Maturin, clearly deep in thought. "Suggested mode of transportation...?" He gazed at her blankly. "Floo?"  
  
The witch shrugged. "Sure," she replied. "Here –" Charlotte dug into her pocket and clenched a fistful of powder in her hand. Hastily, she shoved as much as she could without dropping any into his proffered hand. "There." With that, she started towards the door.  
  
Stephen looked at her awkwardly. "Where are you going?" he said.  
  
Charlotte glanced back at him, surprised, as 'though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Office. This stuff has to be recorded, you know, Mister Healer." She brandished the camera. "Job's a job, whether a former classmate has been diagnosed with an unknown killer toxin or not." The Fenwick witch shook her head. "Sorry, mate – this one's all yours. I'll check in at Mungo's as soon as I can." She glanced out the window. "I think he's just about had it – no family left, as far as I know. As for friends..."  
  
Both diverted their gaze. "Yeah," said Charlotte faintly. "Yeah, well... I have to go."

* * *

The rat scampered down the gutter, his paw now firmly bound with some bandage he'd stolen from one of the shops up in that Hampshire town. Where to next? Peter could not help but feel a little lost. There was no one giving orders, and it was a little uncomfortable.  
  
Pettigrew pondered it for a moment. Maybe he could take that road beneath the Channel – he'd always wanted to go to France.  
  
Well, everyone was dead now, anyways – who was there to stop him? His master was gone, for the time being. James and Lily were already taken care of. Sirius was in Azkaban (Wormtail took a moment to snicker over this). Remus was dead – he had personally seen to that.  
  
A twinge of regret prodded in the back of Peter's little rat brain. Or perhaps it was just his nose again... He twitched it experimentally. Yes, it was only his nose.  
  
Peter darted up the drainpipe. Poor Moony. It was a rather wretched way to die. Well, at least all he had to do was stuff it down old Lupin's throat – Peter recalled how that particular poison was supposed to be procured. Extracting it forcibly from a nasty old snake that could kill you. Yuck.  
  
Wait. Peter's nose twitched again, his whiskers flicking upwards and down as he did so. There was but one loose end – that Potter brat. If his rodent features had allowed it, Peter would have scowled. Perhaps he shouldn't head to France just yet. It was quite possible that if the master came back... Once again, the extent of his facial expressions as a rat failed him, but he would have smiled. A way to get back into good graces, if need be.  
  
The rat sped back towards London. Oh, goody.

* * *

The full moon.  
  
Remus started – the full moon, already? How could that be? On top of it all, he probably wouldn't be able to get away from –  
  
Wait. Where was he, anyway?  
  
Lupin struggled to sit upright in his bed. A Healer, sitting at his desk across the room, heard the rustling of perhaps overtly starched sheets, and turned about in his seat. "Awake at last," he remarked offhandedly, his pale blue eyes smiling.  
  
The Healer turned about in his chair – Muggle made, and apparently of the swivel variety – and stood up. Rather than the usual stark white robes, he was dressed a bit more casually, in a sense – his garb more resembled that of a nineteenth century gentleman. A Pensieve sat on top of the Healer's desk, the memory of the full moon fading even as he walked towards Remus, a sheaf of paper in hand.  
  
"Mister Remus J Lupin," said the Healer absently, looking through what was obviously Remus's medical record. "Twenty-one years of age – lycanthropic –" Lupin winced. He expected some sort of accusing glare from the Healer, but received none. Instead, he continued. "– and a slight dust mite allergy. Fairly clean record, by all accounts." The Healer smiled congenially. "You gave us quite a scare."  
  
Lupin blinked owlishly. "I beg your pardon, but where exactly am I, and who exactly are you?" He put a hand to his brow. "And why do I feel like someone dumped a sack of bricks on my head?" he added in a dark mumble.  
  
"You, Mister Lupin, are on the second floor, Magical Bugs, Caduceus Meliflua ward, of Saint Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries. I, myself, am the Healer Stephen Maturin, at your service." The Healer Stephen Maturin lowered his eerie pale gaze to look Lupin in the eye. "And you, sir, feel as 'though someone dumped a sack of bricks on your head, because you were administered an uncommon amount of a deadly toxin.  
  
He held up a small bottle of acid orange liquid and tapped it with his finger. "To be exact, it seems to be a mixture of naga venom – that is, an ancient snake poison, the effects of which are curiously alike to that of arsenic –, an extract of the disease more commonly known as the yellow jack, and what I guess to be the alcoholic tincture of laudanum." Maturin peered at Lupin curiously. "Have you been feeling particularly drowsy of late?"  
  
Lupin kneaded his brow. "That might be one way of putting it," he replied, not without malevolence. Stephen, however, took no notice and simply nodded, mumbling to himself and checking off something on a slip of paper.  
  
"I thought so..." he muttered. "Anyways, Mister Lupin, I believe you'll manage to be with us for some time yet." Maturin nodded. "Yes, yes – just so long as you desist swallowing naga venom, I'm sure you'll see many more days yet."  
  
Remus raised an eyebrow. "I didn't swallow /anything/, Mister –," Now Stephen raised a brow dubiously, "Healer Maturin," Remus corrected.  
  
Stephen looked at Remus blankly. "Well, that's precisely how it was introduced to your system, Mister Lupin," he said blandly. "Now, I might suggest rest. That's generally the panacea for those formerly in critical condition."

* * *

Peter had made up his mind. There was a new plan involved: find a Wizarding family. Just keep an eye out for anything that might be used in his favour, JUST IN CASE. After a bit, if he gets bored... Pettigrew shrugged a bony rat shoulder. Well, there was always Paris.  
  
Where to find a Wizarding family, 'though? That was the question. The rat ignored a shriek from a fat Muggle woman as he scrambled across the streets of London. Wizarding family, Wizarding family... That was when he caught sight of the hospital. Then it all came together.  
  
"Uuuuh... Wait. How did I end up with him, again?"  
  
These were the thoughts racing through Charlotte Fenwick's mind as she bodily dragged a bawling five year old Percy Weasley through the streets of London. Or, as Percy was constant to remind, Charlotte Fenwick bodily dragged the bawling five years and three hundred sixty four days old Percy Weasley through the streets of London. Charlotte winced as the brat gave a particularly high-pitched shriek. She would have probably uttered a few choice words just then, if it were not for the fact that he would have only rebuked her, then continued at an even higher volume.  
  
"This is why I don't do favours," she muttered to herself as she nodded her apologies to a couple of businessmen. This was essentially a lie, as despite everything, Charlotte seemed to end up in people's debt, just the same. Or so they claimed. Well, she couldn't deny Arthur Weasley much – he was an overall nice guy. A bit touched in the head, sure, but a nice guy. A nice, POOR guy. The witch sighed. That made it even harder.  
  
"'Just a few hours,' he said. 'Just for a bit, 'til Molly can get back from Dublin.' Tosh." Charlotte snorted. "He KNEW I had things to do..." Percy wailed louder.  
  
"YES, Percy, I /know/ it's your birthday tomorrow," said Charlotte for the umpteenth time. "Yes, I /know/ you want your mum... Sorry," she added to a pair of sinister shopping grandmothers. "Uh huh, Percy," Charlotte said absently as she peered about, looking for the hospital's entrance. At long last, she found the department store and sighed with relief. "Come on, Percy..."  
  
The witch glanced about for a moment over her shoulder, finally deciding it best just to ignore the Weasley kid's screeches, and leaned forward towards the window with the mannequin. "We're here t'see Remus Lupin," she whispered towards the dummy.  
  
No answer. Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "We're here to see Remus Lupin," she repeated, rather louder and firmer.  
  
The mannequin shook it's head.  
  
"What?!" Charlotte stared, aghast. "'Ey, what's up?"  
  
Inconspicuously, 'though clear enough for Charlotte, who stood directly in front of it, the dummy pointed towards Percy and shook it's head again. Charlotte seethed. "Oh, for the love of –"  
  
Percy gasped at the following profanities and began to scold. Charlotte rolled her eyes. 'I have Arthur Weasley's kid tagging about, a mannequin who won't let me into Saint Mungo's, and a load of paperwork back at the office.' Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated these things. 'Where did I go wrong?'  
  
With a sigh and a silent prayer towards the heavens, Charlotte bent down on one knee and looked Percy in the eye. "What can I do to make you stop whinging?" she asked flatly.  
  
Percy blinked. "Mum," he answered, just as bluntly.  
  
Charlotte sighed. "Other than your mum."  
  
Percy paused and thought about it. "Present. Birthday present." These words sounded a bit cute, in a demented way, mostly due to his lisp. Charlotte blinked owlishly.  
  
"A present?" she echoed, and Percy nodded fervently. "Er..." She checked her pockets. Her wand, a pair of gloves, and a handkerchief. "Want a handkerchief?" Charlotte offered weakly, but was instantly shot down by the five year old.  
  
"Er..." Time was ticking. She needed that talk with Lupin about the whole Black thing, or she'd be getting another long talk, resulting in her being sacked. Not good. Furthermore, Maturin would only let her come in for so long after visiting hours...  
  
Squeak.  
  
Charlotte looked down. As she knelt, a common garden rat had hopped onto her shoe. "What the –" she began, but quickly trailed off. "Here," she said, thrusting the rat towards Percy. "Happy birthday. Are you finished?"  
  
Percy looked blankly at the rat in his hands, then switched his bland gaze towards Charlotte, who was tapping her foot expectantly. "Yes," he said, lisp strengthening. "Yes, thank you."  
  
Charlotte rolled her eyes and glanced at the mannequin. "NOW?" she asked exasperatedly. The dummy nodded. "Thank you," Charlotte muttered, not sounding grateful in the least. "Come on, then, Percy." With that, the witch strode through the glass, with a podgy five year old and his new rat in tow.

* * *

This may be, more or less, the last chapter. x.x I don't really know - it depends on further inspiration. 'Though this might basically just turn into a Remus fic, as Sirius and Peter are just about finished. oo;


End file.
